When in the forenoon the castle again became animated, and the guests met to the mid-day breakfast in the hall of the knights, he descended, moved by an eagerness that made him for the first time in his life nervous. When Sabran addressed him he felt himself grow pale; he followed the movements, he watched the features, he studied the tones of his successful rival, with an intense absorption in them. Through the hunting breakfast, at which only men were present, he was conscious of nothing that was addressed to him; he only seemed to hear a voice in his ear saying perpetually----'Yonder is Vassia Kazán.'
The day was spent in sport, sport rough and real, that gave fair play to the beasts and perilous exposure to the hunters. For the first time in his life, Egon Vàsàrhely let a brown bear go by him untouched, and missed more than one roebuck. His eyes were continually seeking his host; a mile off down a forest glade the figure of Sabran seemed to fill his vision, a figure full of grace and dignity, clad in a hunting-dress of russet velvet, with a hunting-horn slung at his side on a broad chain of gold, the gift of his wife in memory of the fateful day when he had aimed at the _kuttengeier_ in her woods.
Sabran of necessity devoted himself to the crown prince throughout the day's sport; only in the twilight as they returned he spoke to Vàsàrhely.
'Wanda is so full of regret that you wish to leave us,' he said, with graceful cordiality; 'if only I can persuade you to remain, I shall take her the most welcome of all tidings from the forest. Stay at the least another week, the weather has cleared.'
As he spoke he thought that Vàsàrhely looked at him strangely; but he knew that he could not be much loved by his wife's cousin, and continued with good humour to persist in his request. Abruptly, the other answered him at last.
'Wanda wishes me to stay? Well, I will stay then. It seems strange to hear a stranger invite _me_ to Hohenszalras.'
'That I am a stranger to Prince Vàsàrhely is not my fault. That I have the right to invite him to Hohenszalras is my happiness, due to his cousin's goodness, which has been far beyond my merit.'
Vàsàrhely's eyes dwelt on him gloomily; he was sensible of the dignity, the self-command, and the delicacy of reproof which were blent in the answer he had received; he felt humbled and convicted of ill-breeding. He said after a pause: